(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

~~~~~
The memory blackened, running into darkness, and suddenly, I was facing
the spectral Vhailor again, his armored visage empty of flesh - only the
burning embers. I had dragged myself back from a span of many years. So
many years, enough for a man to die many deaths. Or perhaps just one.
"Vhailor...?"
“You shall be JUDGED.”
Vhailor's burning gaze fell upon me along with a strange sense of
detachment, almost as if I was stepping back outside of my body. There was
a faint whisper, a crawling within my skull, and suddenly I knew that no
matter what Vhailor claimed to see, he would only see what I WISHED him
to see. Even the simplest of deceptions he had to accept - I was a closed
book to him.
“Have you ever MURDERED another?”
"No," I lied, even as I recalled the kindly face of the linguist Fin Andlye.
“Have you ever committed INJUSTICE to another?”
"No," I said simply, and Deionarra's voice seemed to whisper in my ear.
“Have you ever WRONGED another?”
"No, I have not."
Morte howls - howling in pain, screaming for someone to stop, to stop killing
him... and my hand, lashing out, again and again and...
"Damn you, skull, you LIED to me. I'll THRUST YOU BACK IN THAT DAMNABLE
PILLAR AND LEAVE YOU TO DIE-"
"I swear to you, Vhailor."
"Dak'kon, zerth of Shra'kt'lor-Drowning, last wielder of the karach blade,
know that I have come to you with the words of Zerthimon, carved not in
1030